


Don't Go Home, I'll Lose My Own

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Clarke and Lexa will always be happy together (because that's what they deserve), F/F, Fluff and Angst, angst only comes from sad events in the past, modern but sorta not modern?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 02:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6593617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the fifth anniversary of her father's death, Clarke ran away to their old secret space in memoriam of all she had lost. Only, inclement weather and treacherous river conditions prevented her from making it that far. Lexa hadn't meant to wander so deep off the trail, but she was never one to turn down a good bet, critical storm warnings be damned. If Anya had told her that she would be saving someone's life that day—namely, Clarke Griffin—she definitely wouldn't have believed her. </p><p>90's HS!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Go Home, I'll Lose My Own

**Author's Note:**

> Hey again. 
> 
> Just a quick note: this story has been in the back of my mind for a while, so I'm finally sitting down to write it. The prologue is super short and in Clarke's POV, but after that, it'll be longer chapters and Lexa's POV. It takes place in the late 90s/early 2000s just because that's sort of a neglected era right in between past and present. And plus, who needs cell phones when you've got walkie-talkies? 
> 
> Title taken from Noa Jordan's "Stay" - when I found this awesome song it completely reminded me of Clexa and my heart broke all over again. 
> 
> Anyway, enough of that. Thanks for reading!

_ October 1999 _

Piercing cold. The impact of ten thousand pins and needles striking up through your body all at once. Limbs rendered immovable in the formerly yielding waters. Lungs crystallized and shattering like silicate glass.

You were going to die. You didn't even have enough circulation running through your brainto process thoughts, but somehow wheedling its way into your subconscious was the knowledge that in the next 30 seconds you were going to contract hypothermia and die.

The fabric that clung to your body like plaster had never felt so encumbering, pulling you down, down, down, towards the rocky riverbed below. Inhaling and exhaling had become a luxury at this point, one you certainly couldn't afford. Blackness crawled into your narrowing line of vision, though you couldn't determine if the cause was a rapidly fading consciousness or the river growing deeper and murkier with each descending meter (most likely a fair share of both). 

It was nothing if not ironic, you thought, that you had lovingly come here to honor your father’s death, only to be greeted so violently with your own.

Just as the icy talons of Fate had begun their culling, the feeling of shifting inertia ran through your body like a hook, pulling you in the direction you last expected. 

Up. 

You were being pulled up. 

And shouting.

There was shouting. 

_“Anya! Get home, call 911. Now!”_

_Anya_. The name was vaguely familiar, as was the girl’s voice calling it, but a heavy pounding in your ears and icebound brain cells were making it difficult to think straight. Suddenly, you were met with the soft crunch of snow on the riverbank, suffocating cold water seeping into your skin replaced with a warm presence on your back and hot air on your neck. 

“I got you.”

You went to turn your head and see who the saintly voice belonged to, but your muscles were too shocked to operate the movement. Whoever had pulled you out of the river was now forming a makeshift cocoon around your body, tucking their arms and legs securely around yours. A violent shivering had made its way through your system, and you grasped your hands in the air, reaching for something—anything at all that would make this numbing pain go away. All was futile.

You could feel your jacket being unzipped, a sign that the girl was trying to take it off of you. _No no_ no. You shook your head weakly and tensed. Jackets were worn to keep people warm. You were cold. _You needed that jacket_.

Sensing your alarm, she spoke soothingly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Your jacket is wet and taking it off will make you warmer, I promise.”

You still gripped the sleeves wearily, a feeble protest almost making its way to your mouth.

“ _Please trust me._ They'll be here soon, but in the meantime I need to keep you awake and alive. And that starts with getting you out of this jacket,” she said, words steady but with a hint of desperation. You didn't know who 'they' were—you didn't even know who _she_ was—and you didn't care. You just wanted to stop being _so cold_.

But you gave in to believing her—she did just save you from drowning in the river, after all—and relaxed as best as possible so she could remove the article of clothing from your body. Then the soft cocoon unraveled around you, granting cold air access to your shrunken frame again. Whimpers escaped your blue lips before you felt a drier jacket wrapping around you. There in the vision of your swiftly closing eyelids, was seafoam green. 

Seafoam green. The color of a waterbody much kinder than the one you had very nearly lost your life in—the kind that had you drowning in a completely different way. It would be nice, you thought, to drown like this. To drown in the calm of such a beautiful color. 

Succumbing to unconsciousness, your eyes roamed lazily over your rescuers body one last time. Synapses barely able to connect…to recognize…

_Lexa Woods? How did she..._

The girl…classmates…you had always wished you knew more about her. But after eight years of fruitless results, like most everyone else, you had given up.

Still…there was worse company to spend your final moments beside, you thought.

You smiled small and closed your eyes.

“ _No, stay with me, Clarke._ ” Her voice was distant and frantic, like the foghorn of a ship receiving its final warning too late. _“They’re coming, I see them, stay—”_

As thought left you, so did the cold, and for that you were eternally grateful. 

Heat. Seafoam. Eternal. 

 

Black.

**Author's Note:**

> It's gonna be a fun time y'all, so strap on and enjoy the ride :)
> 
> ...um. IN.
> 
> I meant strap IN. Heh.


End file.
